


Pass the Dutchie

by burntcopper



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:57:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burntcopper/pseuds/burntcopper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Pylea</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pass the Dutchie

Gunn's sitting in the old warehouse that used to be his home before he threw his lot in with Angel Investigations. Just talking, catching up with all the shit that's been happening while he's been gone. No mention of the funeral of a few days ago, though. Enough harsh words been said about that.  
  
Trying not to think about what happened when they got back to the hotel. The expression on Angel's face after that redhead Cordy talks to on the phone said her piece ain't one he wants to be around for. Last time Angel went anywhere near that blank look, a load of lawyers got theirs in a wine cellar.  
  
After a while, the roar of a big motorbike makes itself known, coming closer. After it's clear it's approaching the warehouse, Gunn volunteers to go check. First sight of the bike, he lets go of the tense breath he tends to hold when there's strangers in the area. He'd know the bike and rider anywhere.  
  
The rider gets off the bike, pulls off his helmet to reveal a familiar face, replaces his glasses. Gunn lifts an eyebrow. "Wes, my man, what're you doing here?"  
  
Wes runs a hand through his hair, sighs. "The atmosphere in the hotel is not exactly conducive to comfort. Angel alone is difficult enough in that mood. I thought I'd come and find you. I tried a few places, and since you weren't in any of those, I deduced you'd have probably come here."  
  
"Thought you'd be in on the mourning fest. What's her name, the dead chick?"  
  
"Buffy. And no, we weren't exactly close. Rather, 'close' is something we never were. Antagonistic might suit better."  
  
"Angel's old girlfriend before LA, right?"  
  
"Mmm." Another distracted sigh while he locks down the bike.   
  
"Okay, something's bothering you, and no way is it the dead girl. What's up, Wes? You look like you're about to start with the furrowed brow."  
  
"I, ah, wasn't sure if I'd be quite welcome tonight."  
  
"Wes, you know you can come see me anytime -" Pause as what Wes is hinting at catches up with him. "- And you're not talking just sharing a beer, are you."  
  
Hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth. "No, not just a beer." Reaches out, grazes the bit of Gunn's shoulder that has a bandage on it from where Angel gouged a piece out of it in Pylea. "Some of the things I did there - well, I know you disagreed wholeheartedly with my willingness to sacrifice individuals to win, for a start." Lowers his eyes. "In fact, I remember you refused to talk to me for a while."  
  
Movement from behind. "Hey, Gunn, you need -"  
  
Gunn doesn't turn round, eyes still fixed on Wes. " 'S okay, Jimmy, it's Wes."  
  
"Guy who took a bullet a while back? Got it." Footsteps retreat back inside.  
  
Wes continues. "So, um -"  
  
Gunn gives him an exasperated look. "Wes, I may not have agreed with half the shit you pulled there, but you got us out of it, right? And I didn't speak to you 'cause I was trying to get my head round some stuff." Sees the raised eyebrow. "Okay, I was a little pissed at you."  
  
"A little."  
  
"A little." He confirms. "I got over it, you masterminded storming the castle, everyone's alive, we're cool." Traces a line down Wes's cheek with his thumb. "And yeah, I still want you in my bed." Grins. "You're too cute to be let off the hook like that."  
  
"Cute?" Wes queries. "Gunn, I am not cute."  
  
"You're cute when you're pissy."  
  
Wes does the pinch-the-skin-between-eyebrows gesture, also known as 'why must I be surrounded by frickin' idiots'. "That is entirely irrelevant." He straightens his glasses. "So, ah, do you have any specific business to complete here?"  
  
Gunn grins again. "You could just ask if I want to come back to your place."  
  
"I wouldn't want to intrude."  
  
"Just let me get a helmet, okay?" Gunn goes back inside, picks up one of the ones that sit by the door. They seem to breed, and he doesn't want to know where the bright yellow Simpsons one came from.  
  
"You heading out, Gunn?" Nate asks.  
  
"Yeah. Got to see a man about a pizza." Gunn replies.  
  
"Skinny white guy, right? Phone me tomorrow."  
  
"Will do." Gunn nods, then heads back out. Wes hasn't put his helmet back on yet, and is leaning against the bike. "You trying to do a James Dean there, Wes?"  
  
"God no. I'd look terrible." He grins in memory of something. "Angel, though..."  
  
"Angel tries to do Brando and fails." Gunn retorts.  
  
"Mmm. He seems to take exception to having to ride on the back, too. Especially when you tell him 'Hop on, gorgeous'."  
  
"No way did you say that." Gunn says, pulling on the helmet he's holding.  
  
"Ask him sometime." Wes says, grin now in outright mischevious mode. "Did I mention the helmet he had to wear was neon pink?"  
  
"Tell me there's pictures." Gunn says, as they get on the bike, Wes removing his glasses and strapping his helmet on.  
  
"There might be surveillance photos." Wes laughs, before turning on the engine and pulling away.


End file.
